


Left

by Hope



Category: Try Seventeen
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-11
Updated: 2004-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for sarahthesleuth</p>
    </blockquote>





	Left

**Author's Note:**

> for sarahthesleuth

The heaviness of Jane's chunky shoes echoing up the wooden stairwell don't quite hide the sound of a door hurriedly slamming, and Jane, with her photographers eye, doesn't fool herself into thinking she imagined the abrupt movement in the corner of her eye as she stepped up onto the landing.

She resists the urge to rise up on the toes of her solid soles and hover closer to the door to the left of hers, imagining on the other side a blonder head doing the same, separated only by the inch-thick wood of the door.  She glances surreptitiously towards Jones's door on the right nonetheless, a little guiltily perhaps, then looks away again, masking the movement to herself with a quick shake of her head.  Jones isn't even likely to burst out at any moment; Jane has photographic evidence of him sitting out on the porch roof, brooding and smoking.  Besides, if he were anywhere near his door he would sure have retrieved the magazine half-poking underneath it (_Fresh Faces!_ she can see it proclaiming.  _New Talent N--_).

Despite the scowl gritting her teeth, she fumbles with her keys a little longer than necessary, slides it into the lock with elaborate care; but the landing remains otherwise encased in a pointed silence.  Once inside the door shuts quickly behind her and she turns, hands held up and spread out as if placating a somewhat dangerous animal; she slows her breathing and leans in close again.

With her eyes closed she can hear what her frustration and anticipation muffled on the landing; the sigh and creak of the old timber as it shifts in the crisply warm air, Steve walking around in his studio beneath her, humming softly.  The measured, metallic drip of a tap into the sink in her makeshift darkroom.  The wood grain catches against her eyelashes and the smell of the polish is strong.  She imagines she can see better this way, see through the door from where she is standing, with a door each to the left and right of her, and the stairway straight ahead, only ever leading down.

**Author's Note:**

> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/26196.html


End file.
